


this broken record spins endless circles

by Analyse (D_Willims)



Series: it'll still be two days till we say we're sorry [5]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: And So Is Getting Off The Meds, Anxiety Is A Menace, Gen, The Hargreeves Trying to Love Each Other, author hasn't read the comics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-02-07 04:37:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18613297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/D_Willims/pseuds/Analyse
Summary: Vanya learns to breathe.





	this broken record spins endless circles

**Author's Note:**

> Fic title from "Nothing Breaks Like a Heart" by Miley Cyrus & Mark Ronson.
> 
> Series title from "One Week" by the Bare Naked Ladies.

The bathwater is warm but Vanya can’t stop _shaking_. It’s the blood, she thinks. Dried on her skin like the ink of the tattoo she was never allowed to have. Or maybe it’s the way Allison’s hands—so soft and strong and _sure_ —scrub at the stains. Too gentle. Like it wasn’t her own blood that she was scrubbing off her sister’s skin.

Vanya can’t tear her gaze away from the stains. They seem to be spreading. Twisting and growing in horrifying patterns, up toward her throat and down over her fingertips. Devouring her.

Somehow, Allison manages to scrub her skin completely clean. And Vanya _knows_ it’s gone. Knows all that blood has been diluted by water and soap, soon to be whisked away down the drain. Almost as cleanly as if it had never happened at all.  But she can still _feel it_ gathering in the pinkish water. Curling around her ankles and marching up her legs like ants.

She tries desperately to stand, but she’s shaking too much. Splashes down into the water. The blood droplets are trying to drag her down under the surface.

Allison thrusts her ever-present notepad into Vanya’s line of sight. _Have you taken your meds?_ And Allison’s usually straight, neat handwriting is shaky. Wobbling. Then it spills past boundaries. Runs over the yellow page and pools at the bottom, drips down into the dirty water. Darkens it further with blood.

“You can’t,” she whispers, so soft she’s not even sure she said it out loud. Then, louder and louder until she’s screaming, shaking. “You can’t, Allison. You can’t, _you can’t_. Please, don’t make me take them, you can’t. I won’t let you. I can finally… feel… If you ever… lo…” The words collapse into nothing, a muffled cacophony that thrums in her veins. Throbs in time with her heartbeat.

_Vanya, I love you._

_Stop. Saying. That. Oh, God, say it just one more time. Please._

For the first time in her life, Vanya finally, _finally_ feels. She didn’t even know she didn’t until she could again. For the first time she wasn’t sitting on the outside looking in, wasn’t numb. Disaffected by the world passing her by. And it’s bad—it’s so bad—all guilt and shame and anger and hurt and fear and desperation swirling deep in her belly. But it’s _hers_ and she wants it, needs this dizzying spin.

The world comes back into sharp focus with a tremendous splash, water crashing down on the floor. A gunshot echoes. Like a bell ringing in her ears.

And there’s hands cradling her face, tiling her head up until her gaze meets her sister’s. Allison’s brown eyes flood with an emotion Vanya can’t identify. Too soft for hate and too hard for love. This weird in between place where Vanya thinks they might have always existed.

 _Say the words_.

“B-b-breathe, Vanya…” For a second, only a second, Vanya convinces herself that it’s Allison talking. That her voice has actually come back.

Vanya looks down. Her gaze catches on the white bandage against Allison’s dark skin, the same way her breathing catches in her throat. There’s a stain on it, slowly spreading and twisting. A dark and terrible red.

She closes her eyes and follows Diego’s stammering instructions. _Inhale. Exhale._ When she opens her eyes again, there’s spots on the edges of her vision but the stain is gone and Allison is still kneeling in front of her. Pinning her against the back of the tub. It’s safe and terrifying all at once. Another little box.

Reaching out, Vanya fists her hands in the front of Allison’s soaked shirt. Pushes away and pulls closer and just holds on. The house creaks and moans with each shuddering breath that escapes Vanya’s lungs. She understands, now, why Allison is so desperate to get her to calm down. Why Diego is stammering. Only hours ago—hours from now—she’d brought the house down on them. Destroyed Dad’s little boxes without any care for their pain.

Allison’s gaze turns towards Diego, standing next to the tub. Vanya follows it, to Luther’s bulk in the open doorway. Klaus is past Luther’s shoulder, further down the hall near Five’s room.

Diego turns the wet pages of notepad to the instructions Allison must have scribbled down for him. “We’re wo-worried about w-w-withdrawal.” A crease appears between his brows, like he’s never heard the word before. And he looks at Luther as Vanya looks back at Allison.

“Withdrawal?” Luther calls down the hall, his voice is distant like he’s underwater.

And Klaus answers, equally as distant, “It’s a real blast, bro. Better than sex. Not as good as E, but what is?”

Vanya feels Allison silently sigh against her fists. A sudden shift as Allison swings her arm out to punch Diego in the thigh. Then, she reaches for a towel on the floor, wraps it around Vanya even though they’re still in the bathwater.

“Vanya doesn’t do drugs,” Diego says at the same time Luther says, “ _Oh_ ,” and Klaus says, “I thought you were a rocket scientist. Jesus.”

Vanya lets out a small, humorless laugh and drops her head to Allison’s shoulder. Tries not to think about the fact that, when she presses her left ear to Allison’s bicep, she can’t hear her brothers at all. It’s nothing, a trick of a mind unmedicated. Like the ink bleeding off the paper. That’s all.

Someone pulls the stopper out of the drain and water is swirling around them. Vanya silently prays the prickling on her skin is carried away with it. Then Diego’s pulling her upright and Allison’s pushing and Luther wraps her up in a dry towel. But it’s Allison, still dripping wet, that does the work of helping Vanya to dry off. Who leads Vanya to Allison’s bedroom and finds some of Allison’s old clothes to wear.

“Can I… can I have a minute? To myself?” Vanya asks only after Allison is in dry things too. And she hates herself for even asking. After everything she’s pulled recently, she deserves to be watched like a hawk. But these past few hours were more attention than her siblings have paid in her a lifetime and it’s making it so hard to process what happened. Her skin itches.

Allison nods and finds a piece of paper and a pen on her dresser. _I’ll be close if you need me_. Hesitantly, she smooths a hand through Vanya’s hair, cradling the back of her head. Pressing her close, against her stomach, and kissing the top of her head.

_Vanya, I love you._

And Vanya wants to take back her ask. Wants to hold on just a little longer, leaning into her sister, letting this warmth wash over her. Let it hold her still while the world spins faster and faster. Then, Allison is gone.

The door closes behind her with a soft click. Vanya lays down, curls up on herself. She cries without making a sound.

\--

Vanya backs away from the fire, until her feet hit the edge of the stage. Somewhere in the smoke, a shot rings out. Echoes in her head. The world around her trembles, shifts. And she’s falling and falling, screaming and screaming and _screaming_ for her siblings. For the first time ever, the dream changes. Allison turns around, runs up to the edge, reaches down for Vanya’s outstretched fingers.

Their fingertips touch. And for a moment, she feels like it’s going to be okay. And then Allison _gasps_. Loud and audible. Blood spills from the injury on her neck. Vanya screams and screams and _screams_ until her lungs fill with her sister’s blood. Hands reach up to from the black depths of and pull her away.

Her sister’s hand, slick with blood, falls away.

She woke in a cold sweat. Gasped but didn’t scream. Dad had no tolerance for nightmares and certainly not for disturbing others. So she’d learned to swallow her panic, her terror. How to hold it in her chest and stomach, to never let it escape even when her heart pounded against her ribs.

No matter how quiet she is, the mattress dips under somebody’s weight. Rough, calloused fingertips brush against the soft skin of her wrist. Another reminder that she was an outsider. That she was still soft where her siblings were hardened.

Closing her eyes again, she turns onto her back. Pulls her hand away. The sound comes rushing back to her all at once.

“—ya?” Diego says. He rests his hand on her shoulder, leans over her. “Va-vanya? B-br-breathe f-for me.”

It’s painful. Vanya sucks in a deep breath through her teeth and her lungs _burn_. Her throat aches like she’s been screaming for hours, days. Even though almost no time has passed; her hair is still damp and clinging to her cheeks. The whole house seems to shudder when she exhales.

He reaches out to brush the mess of hair out of her face. Just barely skimming over the edge of the bruise on her temple. It’s only been two, maybe three days since a man in a mask hit her with her father’s mace. And she’d forgotten about it; it wasn’t even the weirdest thing to happen that night. Not even the most painful.

“You don’t have to pretend to care.” Vanya doesn’t know what she meant to say when she opened her mouth, but it wasn’t that. She sits up, pushes herself back against Allison’s headboard. Pulls her knees to her chest, wraps her arms around his shins, makes herself _small_. “I know I’m… I’m a liability.”

At least Diego has the decency to wince when she throws his words back at him. He doesn’t let her be, though. Instead, he scoots closer until he’s almost touching her. And he hesitates, breathes, before he puts his hand on her shoulder.

“You’re m-my si-sister.” He shudders violently when the whole house shakes. It’s her, she realizes too late. She’s the one doing that, scaring him. But he still doesn’t let go of her.

She scrubs a hand over her face, violently. Tries to banish the emotions the way Dad taught her. And Diego only grips her bicep harder. “You were going to kill me. I remember,” she says softly. “That was real, wasn’t it? I’m not… I’m not _crazy_ …”

Diego says nothing and when Vanya looks at him, he looks away. He grips even tighter, until she thinks it might actually bruise.

“I’m not crazy, am I? You wanted to kill me. Like Leonard said. I should’ve… should’ve stayed with him…”

All at once, Diego seizes her other arm, pulls her in closer until she’s crushed against his chest. It’s desperation, not affection. He smells like sweat and cheap cologne and laundry. Vanya remembers the way Luther held her so close that she couldn’t breathe, squeezed and squeezed until the world had gone dark. She tries to breath slowly. In through her nose and out through her mouth the way the therapist Dad sent her to taught her.

And maybe that was a lie, too.

“You be-belong he-he-here,” Diego whispers fiercely into her hair. Itching for a fight like always. She can feel his fingers twitch anxiously against her arms.

With a jolt, she realizes his knives are gone.

A sob escapes her lips and this time the house stays put. She uncurls just enough to wrap her arms around her brother, fists her hands in the back of his sweater. Holds on. “I don’t want to die,” she whispers into his chest. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

She can still taste Allison’s blood on her tongue.

“It’ll be di-diff-different this time,” he promises. His confidence feels false, hollow. But Vanya’s so desperate to believe him.

 _I just need my family_.

It’s too much. She doesn’t want him to let go and she needs to push him away. “I’m alright now,” she lies.

Diego holds on for another breath. Two. Squeezes even tighter. Panic rises in Vanya’s throat like bile and it tastes like blood. Then he lets go of her completely, pushes away from the bed. Too fast like holding on burned him.

Some day they were going to have to talk about that. About all of this. She’s been in therapy long enough to know you can’t heal without talking. Vanya _dreads_ that day. Maybe she should just leave now.

She hasn’t even been home again for a full two hours.

 _I just need my family_.

“Get some rest,” Diego says. He sounds stronger now that the house has stopped shaking. Now that she’s alright. She feels bad for lying.

Vanya waits until she can’t hear his, or anyone else’s, footsteps. She ignores the fact that, if she presses the right side of her head to the pillow, she can’t even hear the sound of her own breathing. It’s nothing. When she’s sure that the hall is clear, she leaves the room. She _can’t_ stay in this space anymore, breathing in the stale scent of the perfume Allison wore when she was sixteen and the taste of blood.

She doesn’t know where she’s going.  It’s so easy to walk for hours and hours in this house, wandering aimlessly through old storefronts and apartments. Especially now that Dad is gone and they can wander freely. And still she ends up in the kitchen.

Before she’s even aware of what she’s doing, she starts making a peanut butter and marshmallow sandwich. It’s automatic. Muscle memory. Six years of making sandwiches every night, from the time Five left until she did. And years before that.

For good measure, she makes a pot of coffee. Five would appreciate a strong cup of coffee and Vanya needs the pick-me-up.

“I can’t sleep,” she says when she pushes open his door.

And he reaches for her, or for the mug of coffee, probably. “You can stay here,” he says. He makes room for her to sit next to him and doesn’t pull away when their knees touch. She breathes in the familiarity and her skin still itches, still crawls with blood. But all she tastes now is the bitter coffee and sweet sandwiches.

“I miss you,” she whispers when the light starts to break through the window. It’s honest. And she nearly apologizes, does correct herself, “ _Missed_ you.”

He’s right here and she’s right here and nothing feels right and everything’s going to be okay. The sun rises and the world isn’t ending.


End file.
